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had risen from the table and stood to look at Jack. “You have my commiserations,” he had finally pronounced.

 

†

 

“Well, what did you expect?” Jamie asked, looking at Jack as he spilt ale over the table in an effort to blindly fill the cups. “You were in awe of the man. I bet you were making a Harry of yourself all night, eh? So what’s he like then, this brother of yours?”

A sardonic grin crept onto Jack’s face. “Ah well, that is the question. I don’t know. He keeps his own counsel; what he thinks and what he does are for his own ends. I just try and keep off the sharp side of his temper, mostly.”

“Are you still with him then?”

Jack grunted an affirmation.

“And how do you get on?”

“Not well, not as brothers,” Jack complained moodily.

“Not as equals is what you mean, isn’t it?” Jamie observed shrewdly.

Jack didn’t reply but looked closely at Jamie, wondering at his words.

“Who carried the curse, eh? Do you treat him as equal, eh? From what you said, you don’t. You had a picture of him in your mind from when you met him in the woods, didn’t you? You lived with the memory of that meeting for two years, and in that time, knowing nothing about him, you made him the brother you never had. Cast a mould that the man wouldn’t fit into…”

“Silence!” Jack hissed, outraged.

“I only speak the truth,” Jamie said gently. “Takes an odd one like me to see it sometimes. The one you met in the woods doesn’t exist, only here.” Jamie tapped his head with a bony finger.

“I don’t have to listen to this.” Jack’s blue eyes blazed angrily, his hands on the table edge as he started to stand.

Jamie laid his hand soothingly on Jack’s arm, smiling. “Too late, lad, I said it.”

The old man’s manner drained the anger from Jack and he lowered himself back onto the seat, his head dropping into his hands. It was something he had never considered. Jack took a long drink. He didn’t want to consider it either and stared at the table top, brooding, immersed in the thoughts the priest had provoked, struggling with the possibilities. Jack’s was a melancholy not overly helped by the alcohol.

Jamie changed the subject. “So, are you bound for England? Everyone here is waiting for the weather to improve.” It was a fair assumption, there being many travellers congregated at the inn waiting for the storm to break.

“Aye. Richard has a group of men with him that he hopes to hire, and I can tell you, the prospect of money would be pleasing.” Jack allowed the discourse to change path, turning the cup slowing in his hand, his eyes fastened upon it.

“What have you been doing in France then?” Jamie enquired.

“Since I joined him, same thing,” Jack replied bleakly, still not meeting the priest’s stare.

“Why leave France then?” Jamie asked.

“We outstayed our welcome.” Jack looked up and met Jamie’s enquiring gaze. The look on the priest’s face told him that he wanted all the details, and he saw no harm in providing them. “We were hired last to protect a mill. Comte Riberac had five mills, two had been burnt to the ground and he had a mind to keep the last three standing. Turns out the mills belonged to the villages, not to the Comte. He was trying to levy a tax on the villages for all sacks ground, to claim them as his by right.”

“And?” Jamie prompted.

“Well, let’s put it like this, we didn’t get paid. Richard had all the carts with the Comte’s ground corn in them driven into the middle of the village market. Those carts were picked over and emptied in a trice,” Jack lamented.

“A Godly thing to do,” Jamie spoke approvingly.

“That might be the case, but it’s left me with no money to my name and what I did have has been hocked,” Jack complained moodily, he’d still not forgiven Richard for relieving him of the jewelled cross he’d worn his whole life. Richard had exchanged it for coins and, despite promising to redeem it, Jack was fairly sure he would never see it again.

Neither saw the man Jack had provided with a horse on Harlsey Moor approach and stand quietly at the end of the table. Richard Fitzwarren had been listening to the conversation for a few minutes before he decided to speak.

“Is this a private moment? I would hate to interrupt.” The silken voice, cool with indifference, brought both heads up from the table.

“No, sit if you will.” Jack’s voice bore a weight of resignation.

Jamie grinned. Jack saw the priest looking at his brother and scowled. He knew that the man who had arrived bore no resemblance to himself at all. Dark hair, immaculately dressed, the expression bored, and the eyes telling of a quick intellect. Reservation, confidence bordering on arrogance, Richard was opposite in many ways to his fairer sibling. Richard, with his fine-boned face, dark skin, almost black hair and steel-grey eyes bore no physical similarity to Jack. Richard was shorter and of much slighter build than his stockier brother, and the look in his eyes in particular contrasted sharply with Jack's friendly blue ones. Jack, dressed in fustian and old leather knew he made a stark contrast to the man now sitting next to him.

No one spoke. Heaven’s forces regrouped and surged forward with a charged assault of turbulence. The rolling cannonade drowned all noise in the inn.

Jack flinched.

Richard reached for the pitcher, tipping it to inspect the contents. He looked at the priest. Hard steel eyes told of an inquisitiveness not quite matched by his manner; the corner of his mouth twitched into a smile that carried no humour with it. “Well, it looks as if I shall have to supply the ale if you want to continue with the spiritual guidance of the fair Polynices.”

Jack watched Richard summon a serving girl for a fresh pitcher of ale. There was an expensive crested ring on Richard’s hand, and Jack saw the priest’s eyes linger upon it.

His brother had turned away, employed in the task of obtaining more ale, meeting Jamie’s eyes Jack said, “Meet my brother.”

“I’d guessed,” Jamie said quietly.

Their brief exchange had not, however, been missed by the newcomer who, turning back, addressed Jamie, smiling. “Half-brother to be precise.”

The ale arrived and Jamie took the task of filling the cups. Richard, accepting his, addressed Jack. “So, have you been regaling…” pausing, he turned to the priest who supplied him with his name. “…Jamie with tales of our family heritage then?”

Jack, about to speak, was stopped by Jamie who broke in first. “Jack was telling me how you met, an interesting tale.”

“A most interesting afternoon if I recall, and an expensive one,” Richard replied lightly, his tone still that of the disinterested.

“Expensive?” Jamie queried.

“I lost a horse, a sword, and gained a dependent…eventually.” Richard, smiling, clapped Jack on the back.

It was too much for Jack. A black expression settling on his usually lightly humoured features, he rose from the table, glowered at Richard and without a word turned on his heel and left.

“You’re a cruel one, aren’t you?” Jamie exclaimed, slamming his cup back on the table with some violence, watching his evening’s entertainment mount the stairs leading to the rooms above.

Richard looked up, all humour gone from his face. “Am I? Probably.”

“It’s not Jack’s fault.” Jamie’s words were gauged to produce a reaction.

Richard cast an assessing gaze over Jamie before replying. “Not Jack’s fault for being a bastard, or not his fault that he cannot accept me? I will accept that Jack cannot possibly be called to account for the former.”

“Both.” Jamie had not expected such an accurate response from Richard. “You want him to leave you?”

“It had crossed my mind.” Richard’s fingers idly turned the cup in his hand.

“That’s why you’re so cruel to him?” Jamie was back in his stride again. Leaning across the table he continued his friendly interrogation of this family. “That and you don’t want him on your conscience. You’ve walled yourself up in here.” Jamie tapped his head for the second time that evening. “No space for another in your life, is there?”

“Do you normally make such rapid judgement on meeting people?”

“Sometimes,” Jamie admitted. “I have only what Jack tells me to go on, unless…”

“No, I am in no need of confession. Trust me, my soul is well beyond redemption,” Richard replied lightly.

“Dark words. A man who believes he is beyond salvation must feel well-damned indeed. So you’d prefer to meet the devil alone, is that it?” Jamie asked, drawing on his power of office to deliver a rebuke to a man who spoke so blasphemously of his own salvation.

“We are all damned, I believe, and require salvation to save our souls. Don’t lecture me. I have Jack to counsel me in the error of my ways, which are, as I am sure you will have heard, not inconsiderable.” Richard’s voice was still calm, the tone not matching the words. “It was probably you who sent Jack to his bed in a bad mood, rather than me. What exactly did you say to him?”

“Just told the lad a few truths. Nothing he probably didn’t know already.” Jamie was watching the man before him carefully.

“You don’t miss much, do you?”

“It’s a talent.” Jamie replied, smiling. “Age and experience and a love of God.” He leant towards Richard. “Who tells us that…”

Richard cut him off. “I know: love thy brother.”

“Precisely,” Jamie replied, as if that was the answer they had been seeking all night.

“It’s not that easy.” Richard’s voice was no longer detached.

Jamie looked up quickly at the first hint of confession. “I can see that. He has you cast as something you are not. Well, you might be, I don’t know much about you, but I doubt it. Jack can’t help it. Give him time, don’t force him away because he begs to be a part of your life,” Jamie concluded before promptly draining his cup. "Matthew tells us that everyone who is angry with his brother will be liable to make a hasty judgement. Don't let that be you."

“I force him away for his own safety. He does not beg to be a part of my life, he cannot be. He will remain as he is, displaced, and he will stay so while he has me to remind him of his inferiority.” Richard’s voice was weary, and he sounded as if he was reciting an often-stated fact.

“Why make him feel inferior then?” Jamie asked bluntly.

“By the saints you know so well, I do not; he does it himself,” Richard replied, exasperated.

“That’s the fault of how he was raised. Sees you as someone to obey, to follow. He can’t help that.” Then adopting a serious voice he declared, “Love one another with brotherly affection.”

“And outdo one another in showing honour,” Richard finished the quote and drained his own cup. “Here, I’ll leave this. I am sure you will empty it.” He rose and, without another word or so much as a backward glance, departed.

Jamie pulled the pitcher towards him and settled down to empty it and muse on an interesting evening.

 

†

 

Richard pushed open the door to his